A Ghost of Justice Read Free Page B

sister, too.  Maybe not blood kin, but Kelly had become a real sister to her.  But now…
    She sought one of Albert's offered chairs and sat.  The parcel had gained a ton of weight.  She laid it in her lap, unable to even think about it.  It wouldn't sink in.  Instead it raced wildly across her mind, not settling anywhere.  The letter said it so bluntly: murdered .
    When was it?  That suddenly seemed imperative to know.  She glanced angrily down at her lap.  The letter still lay on the top.  Blinking to clear her eyes, she saw the date again.  Thirty-two days ago!  How could it have taken this long to tell them?
    Vaguely, Emily heard Evans-Thomas mumbling something about a screw-up with the n-phones, radios not working, i-systems messed up and other garbage.  Just as quick as it was vital to know, she no longer cared about the time.  Steve and Kelly were dead.  Murdered.  This had to be a trick, a mistake, a dream…nightmare.
    Albert was still talking.  "I really felt it a frightful invasion of your privacy, Eric.  But I did so want to help in any way I could, you see.  The next page said something about reservations with the West Suborbiter out of Morocco, paid in advance.  I took the liberty of checking.  This Lindley fellow must be a good friend indeed."
    "Family lawyer," a voice croaked.  Emily didn't think it sounded like her father but nobody else was there.
    "Yes, well.  He made a Time-of-Claim reservation with EuroStratus.  New thing, I understand.  It's in effect for the first flight after you claim it, see."
    Poor man is nearly babbling, Emily thought.  The irony wasn't missed by her.  She and her father had lost Steve, and she felt sorry for Evans-Thomas.
    The Englishman continued.  "Two reservations, of course.  You must go with
    your father, Miss Sheafer."
    As if I'd consider otherwise, she thought.
    Her hands and feet suddenly lost feeling.  The chair seemed no longer sufficient to hold her and the parcel.  The document slid to the floor.  Emily raised a shaking hand to the side of her face.  "Oh, God," she managed to say weakly.  Remembering the other victim in the tragedy, she moaned and let her head slump against the hand.  "David," she managed to utter in a rasping voice.
    Her father sat down next to her, encircling her shoulders with his arm.
    Through a sudden and profound numbness she managed to notice a tremor going through him.

 
     
     
    5
     
     
    The cemetery so completely matched her mood under the heavy gray sky.  Alone now, still standing next to the graves of her brother and his wife, Emily dabbed at tears with the sleeve of her sweater.   Another wind came slicing through her clothes, making her shivering come harder, spasm-like, the air pushing away the odor of freshly turned earth, carrying the scents peculiar to winter: icy cleanness, wet of a coming cold rain, a hint of wood smoke.  Finally she turned to walk back to where her father and uncle waited, talking.  In a moment she was close enough to hear them.
    "I didn't know they'd be in on Saturdays," Eric said.  He took another long look at the double mounds.
    The statement made no sense to her.
    Bob Sheafer stood next to the Jaguar.  It occurred to Emily that normally he'd be remarking on Ed's fine new car.  Things, however, were never to be normal again.
    "They do things they didn't used to.  Plus, with that damned law, they don't any more do many of the things they should."  Bob opened the driver's door.  "I just don't understand how it ever came up, let alone got passed.  Phil said it was the climate in Washington.  Disastrous.  That's the only word for it.  Disastrous last three decades.  No one trying to get anything done.  Just all out for their own damned party.  Now this guy Futrell in the White House.  Seems intent on political suicide, but the news keeps saying he's popular.  Chopped up Social Security, most of Medicare.  Ended Homeland Security and reduced the FBI,